Friday, April 7, 2017

Speech Returns

Guess what? Thursday was grey, cloudy and rainy. What a surprise. But I felt cozy inside and happy that I had the doily dress to finish. My progress has been slow; its finicky work but I liked how it developed. I worked all day with the windows open; the air smelt so clean and delicious.
I watched the PBS documentary on John James Audubon while I worked on my dress and I wept. I had no idea of how well, how powerfully and how beautifully he could write. Oh my God! What a guy. And, of course, his paintings are magnificent. But so is his story. And Lucy, his wife: What a woman is revealed in their correspondence and in her role in his success. I’m thoroughly smitten; he’s now part of my pantheon with Luther Burbank, Jeanne d’Arc, Oliver Sacks, Oscar Wilde and so many others.
In the evening, I worked at my desk and couldn’t leave it because the sun emerged and the setting sunlight felt so, so good. Shining in my eyes, I was transported to sunsets past in distant places. The memories are soul food. I thirst for heat and sunshine after this worst winter in ages; a misery intensified by my condition.
I’ve decided that if I haven’t heard from Boca by next Wednesday that I will write to them to invite their formal rejection. When I adjudicated competitions, I always informed every applicant of the outcome. Boca should so the same but perhaps they just informed the “winner(s).”
Today’s Friday: It’s the best day for rejections so maybe I’ll hear something today.
Beth arrives in just over two weeks. It’s going to be fabulous to have someone to play with. She has many friends to see and a conference to attend, but we’ll have lots of time to play together.
I’m going to be so ready for a playmate. I’ve been working alone all winter on my dresses. By the time she gets here, I’ll be well underway on dress number ten.
Late last night, a reprieve: my speech came back. The crisis seems to have passed. I’m back to stuttering at about a forty percentile instead of at almost one hundred percent. That was weird. Four days of being mute for no apparent reason; that’s life with C-PTSD.
















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